A Kid Again
by IncurablyAwesome
Summary: Frustrated after another pointless world meeting, Britain decides to blow off steam with some black magic. When America interrupts – again – a certain spell causes a certain someone to turn back into a kid.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Deliberate OOCness in later chapters and some mild language. Not USUK – love the pairing, but this isn't it :(

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><p>Another world meeting gone with no actual conclusion reached. Why was that not surprising?<p>

His hands in his pockets, Britain left the conference hall with a frustrated sigh. It was all America seemed to do these days; call world meetings in order to flaunt his power and excitedly explain to the rest of the world his brilliant new scheme for tackling global warming. Usually, this involved a giant solar reflector dish in space that could be set to allow only certain amounts of light rays to pass through it, giving the nations – or at least himself – complete control over how much UV light reached their planet and eliminating global warming entirely.

Or sometimes he would demonstrate his proposal for achieving world peace; and a new program in which each nation would bring some of its native food to a world meeting and swap it with the country next to it, thereby teaching everyone to love the other nations' cultural heritage and lose all desire to hate each other. It was just as confusing as it sounded. This particular idea had been met with a horrified wail from Italy who was seated next to Britain at the time, saying that he didn't want to eat soggy fish and chips while somebody else got to eat his pasta, along with various other complaints from pretty much every other country in the room.

Britain sighed again. Stupid America; he had been so cute and playful when he was a kid. _Where on Earth did I go wrong?_

He wished he had somebody to complain to; Flying Mint Bunny had just last week given him a heartfelt, teary explanation that his cousin, Swimming Musk Guinea Pig, was horribly ill and he had to go and visit him for an indefinite amount of time. All of Britain's other magical friends had gone too to offer Flying Mint Bunny moral support; it had taken hours for them to convince Britain that his duty was to stay behind in case world disaster struck, and even now he was fretting that his poor friends might get into trouble without him around. It was a constant state of frazzled nerves.

Britain's mind wandered back to the meeting he had just finished; America had been as loud and obnoxious as ever. He found himself scowling; he had said all possible ways of saying how disrespectful his former brother was a hundred times over. He was sick of always thinking it.

He rubbed his temples. This was just ridiculous; he couldn't believe how much he was obsessing over America's impertinence. It wasn't his fault that the boy had grown into such an irreverent adult. America was America; he would still be America no matter who had raised him.

Right?

He shook his head to clear it. It was absolutely ridiculous to want a second chance with the little boy he and France had once fought over; it was hard enough seeing the result of his first try.

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><p>America couldn't believe how seriously the other countries weren't taking him.<p>

He lingered in the conference room a little longer, watching the other countries file out before him. This was unusual for him; he didn't like being the last at anything.

He was sulking; nobody, not even Britain, seemed to place any real interest in what he said anymore. It was like they were only listening because they were afraid he would do something bad if they didn't.

He shrugged it off; it was their loss at any rate. How could anybody not see the legitimacy in his proposals? After all; if it was the excess UV radiation and heat from the sun that was causing the global warming, what better solution than to stop the sunlight dead in its tracks before it got anywhere near them? The solar deflector dish couldn't possibly cost more than a few hundred billion dollars, right?

He leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table. "Hey, Tony," he said unnecessarily loudly, looking at the alien who was seated next to him, utterly absorbed in his texting. "If every country in the world just came to live with me, there'd be no war, cuz nobody goes to war when there's such a great hero keeping an eye on them!"

Tony kept texting. America seemed to take this as an appropriate response and kept talking.

"Sure, whatever, I guess; they'll learn one day that the American way is the best way and the only way!"

Tony hit send.

America sprang to his feet. "Okay, so now that this meeting is over I feel like going home and playing video games! Are you in or are you in? And then we can go and annoy Britain! In fact forget the video games; let's just go and annoy Britain!"

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><p>The entire room was eerily quiet.<p>

It was totally dark, with the exception of the dim, dancing candled that flickered from their positions on the floor, where they were arranged in the shape of a pentagram.

Various other symbols unreadable to none but a select few lined the floor and the walls; hundreds of them, ancient spells written centuries beforehand and kept alive through meticulous study and practice throughout the ages.

Standing at one of the pentagram's points was Britain, clad in a dark black robe and hood, his eyes clouded over with concentration. The spellbook lay abandoned in one corner of the room, Britain having memorised the incantation on its open page.

Britain closed his green eyes, a sad sigh crossing his lips. And then, confident that everything was well, be began chanting.

"_Risus sicco celebratio vos es idoneus os lectio est vos insolitus leviculus alio! Ego caranatt puto quam valde prodigiosus ut est! Ego reperio is valde frigus! Ego hada utor a nocens reddo! Risus sicco celebratio..._"

A strange light, silvery in colour, began to conglomerate in the centre of the five pointed star.

"_...Lectio est vos insolitus leviculus alio! Ego caranatt puto quam valde prodigiosus ut est! Ego reperio is valde frigus! Ego hada utor a nocens reddo!_"

The light began to intensify, forming a shape recognisable as a sphere. It began to drift towards the door, as if drawn there by some unseen presence behind it.

"_Risus sicco celebratio vos es idoneus os lectio est vos insolitus leviculus alio! Ego caranatt puto quam valde-_"

"Britain?"

"Prodigio- hurkk!"

Suddenly being jerked back to reality, Britain let out a very bizarre noise similar in pitch and tone to that of a drowning fish. "America!" he exclaimed, whirling around to face the door, where an all too familiar face was peering in at him questioningly. "What are you-"

The swirling silver light hurtled towards America.

"Holy-"

America was cut off by a sudden force slamming square into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

The fall seemed eternally slow. It threw him off his feet, sending his limbs flying out in all directions as he toppled towards the inevitable floor.

But something happened to him on the way down. It was as though a second, harder force hit him again, only this one was buffered by something else between him and whatever the second thing to hit him was. He kept falling.

And then time sped up again and his back slammed into the hard wooden floor.

"Owww!" America whined, his eyes squished shut. "What the hell, Britain! What just happened?"

He could feel a weight on his chest, and realised a second later that Britain was lying on top of him. Huh. When had that happened?

"America...?"

America let out a cough. "Wow, that was a pretty heroic fall."

"The spell," England breathed. "What happened to it?"

America opened his eyes. Everything was spinning.

"Your _spell_? Are you kidding me? How should I-" Something dawned on him. "Britain, what's wrong with your voice? It sounds all weird."

"...Huh?" The weight on America's chest lifted, and he sat up, his eyes still unfocused. But it didn't last long. A second later, everything became clear.

Britain and America stared at each other, neither daring to say a word.

"...Wow." For the first time in his life, America was utterly speechless.

"What? What is it?" Britain exclaimed, his voice unusually high pitched.

"Take a look at yourself, dude."

And look Britain did. Down at his tiny body which was suddenly that of a child.

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><p>Lesson I learned from this chapter: Crappy Latin translators can make <em>anything<em> look like an ancient incantation. Heheh...

Thanks so much for reading :D :D I will post chapter two soon :3 And in case you're reading anything else of mine: I'M SORREEEEE T^T I promise I'll get back to updating the other chapters soon T^T WAHHH D': DIE WRITER'S BLOCK, DIE!

Please review 3 I WUFFLES YOU XD

~IA


	2. Chapter 2

"Woo hoo! Free spellbook!" America yelled, snatching up the discarded book in the corner of Britain's illuminated spell room.

At his feet, the now tiny country was scowling, reaching up helplessly, trying to snatch the book. "Give that back, America! I mean it!"

"Okay, British kid!" America grinned, pinching the boy's cheek. "When big brother America has a look to make sure it's G-Rated."

"Shut up, America! I'm still older than you!" he snarled ferociously. America ignored him, looking at the page it had been left on.

"What's this..._'is a very unique spell'..._blah blah blah...here we go! '_Unique in that its effects vary from person to person depending on the caster who is using it. Its effect is to identify what the caster desires most of all, even if the caster is unaware of it himself, and bring about said desire. Because of this property it is very important that the caster is absolutely positive of what he or she wants with all their entirity, otherwise it could do something completely unpredictable.' _Ha! Britain, your innermost desire was to be a little kid again?"

Britain pouted. "The spell was aiming at you. I just got in the way."

America cast him a weird look. "Your innermost desire was for _me_ to be a kid again?"

Britain's voice caught. "I..." He had never felt so insecure. Maybe it had something to do with the reversion to his youth.

"So if that was the case, why did you jump in the way?"

Britain straightened up, trying to look bigger. Why had it never occurred to him just how tall America was? "I didn't know what would happen! F- for all I knew I secretly wanted you dead!"

America's eyes widened. "You what?"

"Ah...that came out wrong!" Britain mumbled. "I didn't know exactly what this spell would do, because that's the nature of the spell. But if there was some part of me I didn't know about that...didn't like you, then the spell would know that and..."

"Aww." America crouched down and ruffled Britain's hair, causing the boy to scowl. "So you thought I was going to die and risked your life to save me!"

"I did not! I was only, er..."

"That's so cute! I thought it was _my _job to be the hero!"

Britain, still scowling, didn't answer.

America picked him up, grinning. "Wow, I didn't know you used to be a kid, Britain! Do you want me to tell you a story?"

"Put me down!" Britain wailed. "Put me down you giant wanker!" He started punching America repeatedly in the chest, which the bigger nation barely even seemed to register.

America was having a lot of fun with Britain's new development. "So, leaving aside the fact that you were actually trying to use _magic_...why did you want to cast that spell in the first place?"

"Shut up!" Britain yelled, trying to wriggle free and failing.

"Did you really used to be this short?"

"Shut uuup!" Britain screeched, thumping America on the head repetitively with his tiny fists. "This isn't fair! Put me down! This is _my_ house!"

America beamed at him. "I can't wait until the next world meeting! France is just going to flip!"

A look of undisguised horror crossed Britain's face, but not a word escaped his mouth. "America..." he finally whispered. "Stop fooling around."

There was something in the boy's tone that affected America. After an awkward pause, he set Britain on the ground.

The two stared at each other.

"So...what now?" America asked.

"I reverse it," Britain said matter-of-factly.

"Aw...do you have to?" America whined. "I like you better this way!"

Britain scowled. "That's enough, America. This is a serious matter. Give me the spellbook."

Shrugging, America handed it to him. "Suit yourself...although I don't think kids are supposed to play around with this sort of stuff," he couldn't help adding.

Ignoring him, Britain flipped through the book, trying to locate something that could help his predicament. America crossed his arms impatiently.

Several minutes of frantic flipping had passed before America realised that something was amiss. Sweat beaded on Britain's brow.

"Is...there a problem?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"I'm _fine_," Britain said a little too quickly. "This is a big book and I've lost my page."

America lifted an eyebrow. "You sure you're okay, dude? Cuz you look a little concerned to me. Is there no counter spell?"

"Of course there is!" he shot back. "I've just...um..."

"So there _is_ a problem!" America crouched down until he was eye level with the smaller country. "What is it? Can I help?"

Closing his eyes, Britain took a deep breath. He mumbled something very softly.

America blinked. "What?"

"I've forgotten how to read!" Britain hissed.

For a moment, America could do nothing but stare.

Then he burst out laughing. "Of course you have - you're like, four!"

"This isn't funny, America!" Britain insisted, whacking him over the head with the book. "I could read when I was this small! I could – I _know_ I could! And I haven't lost my memory – this shouldn't be happening!"

America was laughing to hard to reply for several seconds. "Okay, okay; I'm sorry. That was mean. Give it here and I'll read it."

Britain hugged the book to his chest. "You will not! If it weren't for your stupid meeting this whole thing wouldn't have happened!"

America stared at him. "How is this my fault? You're the Harry Potter here, not me."

"If you didn't keep wasting everyone's time I wouldn't have...I wouldn't have..." He hesitated. "It's your fault, okay? It just is!"

America couldn't believe this irrational toddler was really the same Britain who had raised him. Maybe it wasn't only his physical age that had been altered.

"Cool it, dude!" America said, holding up his hands. "I'm sorry – but that isn't going to help you now."

Britain was pouting. "Just- just leave me alone, okay? I can take care of this myself!"

"But what about-"

Britain pushed on America's legs, trying to steer him towards the door. "Go away! I have stuff to do!"

"But I-"

Britain was already running down the hall in the opposite direction. America crossed his arms.

Britain had arrived at a door and was staring up at it with frustration. Unable to withhold a grin, America waited in silence.

"America, I can't reach the handle," Britain said quietly.

Laughing, America followed him and opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Since settling down from his semi-tantrum, Britain had become unusually quiet.

He was seated at the table, his arms crossed, staring ahead with an intense look on his face. Across him, America was flipping absentmindedly through the spellbook.

"So this is what you do in your spare time?"

Britain scowled. "At least I'm not stuffing my face full of hamburgers and ice cream!"

America gaped. "That was cruel!" Heaving a sigh, he closed the book. "At any rate, it looks like you're stuck like this for the time being."

England was instantly on alert. "Are you kidding me? You mean there's nothing in the entire book which-"

"Dude, calm down!" America laughed. "I just meant I'm a slow reader. Isn't there a movie version of this thing?"

Britain sighed, looking down again. "Of course there isn't. Stupid America."

There was an awkward pause.

"You don't have to stay here, you know," he said after a moment, his voice soft and subdued. "This is my problem for me to solve. You should go home."

"Nah, you'd miss me too much." America winked at him. "Besides, I want to help you out; after all, it is kind of my fault, isn't it?"

Britain looked at him with an expression of utter disbelief. "Wow. I think this is the first time I've ever heard you say anything like that."

America just grinned. "Well you'd better make the most of it, cuz I don't plan on saying it again."

Britain crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Back to the subject at hand; it looks like the only thing we can do for the time being is look through the book for a direct counter-spell – I've read that book very thoroughly, but there are still some parts I could have passed over."

"And if there isn't one?" America could hardly believe he was actually talking about…_magic_…in such a serious tone. It was funny where life took you.

"Then we'll have to settle with a more generalised one; one that is used to reverse any spells of a certain type. That would get the job done but it would be more difficult and there would be more problems involved."

"Like what?"

Britain didn't answer. Absentmindedly, he stuck his fingers into his mouth and began chewing his nails, only to realise what he was doing a second later and cross his arms. He was _not _going to let this age thing get to his head.

"If that doesn't work," he continued, ignoring America's question, "Then I'll just have to invent an entirely new spell."

America lifted an eyebrow. "You can do that?"

Britain smiled smugly. "_Please_. I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland; my skills in the area of black magic are second to none."

"Uh-huh." America got to his feet. "Anyway, I'm hungry. Want some ice cream?"

"Yes, please!" Britain exclaimed automatically, his bright green eyes widening with delight. "Oh...um...no." He shook his head with embarrassment, trying to hide his reddening face. In one final act of cover-up, he scowled. "Of course not; you know I don't like that stuff."

Still grinning, America disappeared from the room only to return a moment later with an entire tub of ice cream. Britain didn't even bother asking where he had actually gotten it from, since there was definitely nothing like that in his house. America seemed to have mastered the art of producing junk food from thin air whenever he so desired. Sitting down at the table with an unnaturally large grin on his face, America began to dig into it with impossibly large mouthfuls.

Britain's stomach grumbled. He knew America was trying to make him jealous, and he didn't like it – he would, of course, never admit that it was working. "America, you're such a pig!" he fumed. "Use a bowl for the love of God!"

"'S not like I'm cross contam'nating since I'm the 'nly one usn' it," he mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream.

Britain crossed his arms, irritated. "It's basic table manners, America! Have you remembered _anything_ I taught you?"

"'Course I have." He swallowed his mouthful. "I can be really polite when I want to be… but that's when I want to be. We're all friends here, so it doesn't matter."

"It always matters!" Britain scoffed.

They fell into an awkward silence.

"Anyway, whatever." Pushing the ice cream tub aside, America pulled the book closer and opened it to a random page. "Since I'm the hero, I have to figure out this thing. Let's see here…Britain? Hey, Britain! You listening?"

Britain's head snapped up from where it had been staring wantonly at America's ice cream tub. He twiddled his fingers under the table, unaccustomed to having such a sweet tooth. _This is getting ridiculous. I hate ice cream!_

_There's nothing wrong with wanting ice cream, especially at this age, _his other voice told him. _Go ahead and ask._

_I'm not losing my composure over ice cream_, he muttered internally.

"You okay in there, dude?"

Jerking himself back to reality, Britain jumped to his feet. "Yes! I'm fine! The book. Did you find anything?"

"Not yet. I _did_ just pick it up."

Britain gulped. "Oh. I see."

America lifted an eyebrow, the subject of Britain's stares not having gone unnoticed. "You _can_ have some if you-"

"Well I don't!" Britain hissed immediately. "Don't patronise me – I may look younger but I'm still way older than you!"

"Dude, calm down! I was just asking."

Britain crossed his arms, trying not to show that he immediately regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry."

Another awkward silence.

And then, out of nowhere, Britain yawned.

America looked as though he were about to make another snide remark, but actually managed to think better of it. "…How are you holding up?" he asked awkwardly, trying to approach the situation at a different angle.

"I'm fine! Cor blimey." He scowled darkly. "How many times to I have to say it? Why did you choose now to suddenly start caring?"

America bit his lip. It was impossible to behave his usual way around such a small kid – even a mouthy ex-adult kid like Britain. "Look, dude…you can blame this on me if you want, but that doesn't change anything. You're still…just a little boy. It's not your fault if you're getting tired."

"Well I'm not!" Britain barked, his eyes drooping shut in spite of the words coming out of his mouth.

Rolling his eyes, America returned to looking at the book. A smug grin trespassed his features. He was the hero – he would win their little semi-argument in due course, simply because his opinion was the right one. That was how it worked for heroes.

They passed in silence for a few more minutes, Britain kicking the table legs impatiently in a vain attempt to fight the rapid-onset of fatigue. He was not going to give America the satisfaction of proving his point.

"Argh! Can you put that thing away?" he demanded finally, pointing at the forgotten ice cream tub. "I can just _hear_ it melting. You shouldn't waste food – if that's what you can call that stuff anyway. No wait, keep reading," he threw in irritantly, "I'll do it. You can borrow my freezer." Without waiting for a response, he replaced the lid on the tub and pulled it towards himself, grunting at the unexpected weight. How could Americans even make tubs this big?

Inside the kitchen, he cast a hesitant glance over his shoulder at the open doorway. America was still seated at the table – or rather, leaning back on his chair with his feet up on the table. Britain grimaced, remembering how much varnish it had taken to make the wood that shiny.

Turning his attention away from his former colony, he made a sudden bolt for the cutlery draw and withdrew a notably large tablespoon. Setting the ice-cream tub on the counter – which took his tip-toes just to reach – he took a very big scoop of ice-cream out of an untouched corner before quickly re-closing it and sticking it into the freezer – which he was suddenly extremely relieved was below the fridge itself. Glancing America's way again, he look a long, satisfied bite of his prize, closing his eyes with contentment. How could he have spent so many years of his life hating this amazing thing?

He polished off his meagre scoop all too quickly and instantly regretted having technically stolen America's food. It was a horrible, sickening feeling in his gut. Hadn't he sworn he was never going to steal again after giving up his life as a pirate?

_Don't worry about it,_ he told himself. _It's just a little one little scoop – and besides, he'll kill himself if he eats it all singlehandedly. And he _did _offer me some. Aw, blimey, that's not right. I shouldn't even have wonted it in the first place! This just isn't fair. Why did this have to happen to me?_

In spite of the sugar fix that he had hoped would help wake him up, his eyelids kept drooping. He shook his head vigorously, glancing at his watch. It was only half past five.

The spoon sliding from his small fingers, he sat down on the floor with his back against the fridge, hating his stupid body for being so pathetic. _America will expect me back in the sitting room soon, but if I just close my eyes for a minute here then I'll be able to stay awake much easier when I go back. Yeah, that'd be a great help…_

An indescribably relief came the second he closed his eyes. He was just so incredibly tired…

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><p>America knew very well that Britain had gone into the kitchen for some one-on-one time with the ice cream tub – after all, he was a hero. Heroes could tell these things. He smiled, strangely okay with the idea of his precious ice cream being stolen – something that he usually considered an unforgivable crime. It kind of reminded him of all the food he had stolen from the kitchen when <em>he<em> was little – although to be fair on himself, when one grew up on Britain's cooking, it was hard not to want to want something once in a while that hadn't been made by the former-pirate.

America pulled out his iPhone and checked the time. It was nearly six o'clock. What was taking him so long?

Finally flipping the weird – and in regards to Britain's…condition, totally useless – book shut with a musty thud, America jumped to his feet, hearing all of his joints crack satisfactorily. "Hey, Britain! You done in here…oh." He halted in the kitchen doorway, confronted with what was – indisputably – the strangest thing he had ever seen.

Britain was curled up on his side, right there on the kitchen floor. His thumb was in his mouth and his short blonde hair was spread out inelegantly over his face and the tiles his head was resting on. Along with Britain's round, chubby face, it was almost…cute.

America's iPhone whizzed up with inhuman speed. The camera made a satisfactory click. "Mark Zuckerberg will be so proud of me," he said with a giggle, opening his Facebook app. He would have to tag France in the photo, too; he would never forgive America if he didn't.

"St'pd 'merca…" Britain mumbled around his thumb.

America hesitated, his finger hovering above the touch screen. Britain even complained about him in his dreams?

"M'srree…f'r eveethig." His tiny thumb fell from his mouth. "If I'd done a better job…you'd be different now…you'd have come back…we miss you at home…stupid America. Stupid…"

America slid his phone back into his pocket without uploading the photo.

He hesitated, wondering if the boy was really asleep. As quietly as he could, he crouched down beside his former brother. "It's not your fault," he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from Britain's face. "You know…I miss you too sometimes…okay, a lot. I wish we didn't fight all the time. I never wanted that."

Britain's only response was a muffled snore.

America gave a soft sigh. "Come here, you. The hero's going to put you to bed." Gently as he could, he gathered up the sleeping child off the floor and held him to his chest. When he showed no signs of waking, America turned and slowly made his way towards the door. Suddenly possessed by the strangest of urges, he began to sing quietly.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came…"

* * *

><p>Finally got this chapter up \o

Seriously, you don't know what it's been like. It's like I've been missing a part of my body, being unable to write! I was all set to have my entire summer holidays to update and hopefully finish my stories, but nooooooooo, my parents are all, "Rawr! She spends too much time on the computer! Let's ban it for the duration of the holidays!" And I'm all, "But mum! I'm just using Word!" And she's all, "Rawr! I don't care!"

Okay, so it wasn't quite like that, but that's the general happenings. Now I've got my computer back, I'm back at school, but my original problem of schoolwork is still coming between me and my beloved FFN. )': But I'm going to try and update everything anyway! I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Yes, that was Phantom of the Opera at the end of the chapter. If you haven't seen whatever episode it was, that was the song that Britain sang to America when he was a little kid. It was meant to be symbolism ;D

By the way, Mark Zuckerberg was one of the founders of Facebook. If you haven't seen _The Social Netweork_, you should ^_^ It's a graeat movie :D

'll try my hardest to keep this story going in between schoolwork and all the other stories I'm still writing I promise I'll get it done eventually xD \o/ Thank you so much for being so patient with me :'D

~IA


	4. Chapter 4

"Mmph."

"It stirs," America said dramatically.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Britain sat up. "…What?"

"It _speaks_!"

"It tells America to shut the hell up!"

"Yes. Yes it does."

Britain looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in his own bed, and aside from the armchair beside the bed, which now seated America, having been dragged in from the living room his bedroom looked otherwise unchanged.

"What happened?"

America looked at him weirdly. "You were sleeping. What else would you do in a bed?"

Britain sat up and threw his pillow at him. "I know that! I meant why are you here?"

"Because you love me so much. It might also be because it's illegal in most states to leave kids under the age of seven home alone."

Britain looked down at himself and gave an awkward sigh. "I guess I hadn't dreamed all of that," he murmured with mild disappointment. Then he quickly started yelling again. "So you just stayed here overnight without even asking? You are _insufferable,_ America! Insufferable!"

America laughed. "You do realise I slept upright in a lumpy British-made chair last night, don't you? Be nice." He grinned. "Although I have to admit, I had no idea kids were so cute when they yelled! Hang on," he said, pulling out his phone and turning on the video recorder. "Keep doing that!"

"Give me that thing!"

"No way! The hero never relinquishes his treasu-"

Britain leapt off the foot of the bed and hurled himself at America, who caught him easily and thus prevented him from grabbing the camera. He scowled.

America set him down again. "At any rate: Good morning, Britain. Did you sleep well?"

* * *

><p>Britain hated to admit it – and would never do so to anybody except himself – but once the teasing was out of the way America was being extremely helpful. Opening doors when he couldn't reach the handle, reading…as well as everything else Britain had forgotten how to do on his own, like tying shoelaces. The teeth-brushing was the most embarrassing; he tried not to linger on the memory.<p>

"So, dude." When Britain was finally presentable – he was wearing an oversized t-shirt since the only clothes that fit him were the ones that had shrunk with him yesterday – America slumped back onto the couch, Britain sitting cross-legged on the floor where his armchair had been before America moved it. "What's the game plan? Any new ideas?"

Britain looked thoughtful. "I…" He looked up sharply. "America, I want to get one thing clear. You are not, under any circumstances, to tell anybody about this!" His voice was almost a plea.

America looked a little offended. "I wouldn't do that. You can trust me, you know; I'm the he-"

"Yes, I've been told." He sighed. "Okay, so if you can't find anything in the book, before I get down to spell-writing I think we should call Romania and Norway – they might know something that can help."

America frowned. "Why Romania and Norway?"

"Because they're…"

"Ah, I get it; they're part of your little magic club."

Britain gritted his teeth. "Yes, and I can trust them; we may not be particularly close but it's club code to not go around talking about magical blunders made by other members."

"What about Russia? He's into magic too, isn't he?"

Britain just glowered at him. "That's not even funny."

* * *

><p>Britain hadn't been expecting much, but it didn't remedy his disappointment when Norway and Romania were just as clueless as he was; they had, after all, learned from the same sources. And as Britain would rather re-live his entire childhood than ask Russia for help, they were back to square one.<p>

It was almost midday when America finally pushed the book away from himself and declared that there was nothing in it that could help. Britain, who had been restlessly pacing the rooms of his house until this point, took this as an excuse to throw an enormous temper tantrum.

"I can't believe that's all you've got to say for five hours of reading!" he wailed, punching America in the stomach repeatedly. "Five hours! Read the bloody thing again; there has to be something! Anything!"

"Britain…" America picked the boy up, feeling incredibly silly. This elicited another infuriated squeal and a rather unpleasant tug on Nantucket, which made America cringe. "I'm sorry, I really am, but this isn't helping."

"Wanker! This is extremely undignified! Let me go!"

For all his squirming, America was just too strong. After a while he managed to settle down and finally stopped struggling. His head now clear of frustration, he started moping.

"I'm sorry about all of this, America," Britain mumbled.

America ignored this. "Okay, so you said you would be able to create a spell of your own to counteract the one in the book. How long would you say that takes?"

"I don't know exactly; all the age-altering spells I've used in the past have been specifically written to alter age. Those kinds of spells are actually pretty easy to reverse." He grinned, remembering Korea. The other Asian nations had enjoyed having him as a child so much that they let it go on for weeks before reluctantly asking Britain to change him back. "But spells regarding innermost desires are actually a lot trickier because anything can happen – thinking about it now, it really was a bad idea to try and use one."

"So…ETA for the thing? A day? Two?"

Britain didn't answer. America shook him impatiently. Britain answered.

"Closer to a week or more; I'd have to test it out."

America groaned. "Great. So I'm stuck being your babysitter."

Britain's first instinct was to reply harshly with a comment along the lines of, 'maybe if you had just knocked this wouldn't have happened', or 'you think _you've_ got it bad?'. After all, didn't he have the right to?

But that...just didn't seem right. Instead, he found himself staring at the closest thing available, which happened to be the collar of America's jacket. "No, America," he murmured. "You're not; this is my problem. You don't need to help me. I don't want to owe you."

Unexpectedly, America gave him a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it, okay, dude? That was harsh; I shouldn't have said it and it's not how I really feel – you know how I am with sarcasm." He hesitated. "Britain, listen very carefully – and I can't believe I'm about to say this – I _want _to help you, and you're smart enough to know that you won't be able to do this on your own. Don't worry about owing me." He grinned. "After all, you spent a century and a half lookin' after me. What's a week or two got on that?"

And then, out of nowhere, Britain burst into tears and flung his arms around his former brother. "I'm sorry, America! I never meant for this to happen. I don't know why you're being so nice to me, but…but…thank you. I don't deserve it; I've been nothing but rude to you since this happened." He mumbled his last sentence into the fabric of America's jacket. "It means a lot that you're staying with me through this."

America gave a soft smile and unconsciously began rocking the boy back and forth. "This isn't anybody's fault – least of all yours. You just focus on getting yourself fixed and I'll focus on everything else."

Sniffling, Britain nodded. "Okay. Let's do this."

* * *

><p>"So this…" Britain picked up the page containing the original spell, which America had ripped clean out of the book, much to its owner's distaste. "…is all we have to work with for the time being."<p>

"Which reminds me – what language is it in?"

The two of them were hunched over the living room table again. America would have much preferred to set up base camp sprawled across the floor, but Britain would not have it, muttering something about manners and composure. At this last question, Britain frowned. "The letters are in our alphabet, but it's a rare dialect of Latin, I think."

"It needs to be translated into American," he stated matter-of-factly.

"It's called English, you moron," Britain muttered.

America ignored this and took the paper from Britain. "I'll read it out to you-"

"No!" Britain hissed, making America jump. "No, that's a bad idea. Don't do that." He took it back, staring hatefully at the letters that his brain utterly refused to form into any kind of words, Latin or not. It was immensely frustrating; he recognised each letter there, they just…didn't mean anything to him anymore. He ground his teeth together.

On top of his forgetting how to read, brush his teeth, tie his shoelaces and every other everyday skill that stupid ball of magic had decided a child didn't need, and his newfound physical inability to open doors and carry heavy loads, Britain was starting to feel the psychological effects of his transformation as well. If the tantrums and sudden onset of sweet tooth hadn't been obvious enough to alert him already, that was.

It scared him. He didn't like feeling like some little kid. It had been hard enough the first time.

He looked up over the page at America, who was still watching him intently. It was almost scary how helpful the other country had been, and how patient, and how…understanding. Britain almost grimaced; it felt totally unnatural even thinking those words in the same sentence as America's name. But it was true.

He pondered this as he handed the page back to America. Maybe having a kid around was bringing out a side of the younger country that had never previously had an opportunity to show. After all, America had spent most of his life as the youngest of the family, the one in need of looking after. By the time Britain had adopted any other major colonies like Australia and New Zealand, America was already gone.

Britain's mind lingered on this thought. Maybe what America had been lacking in his upbringing had been a responsibility; somebody to care for. Britain hated to admit it, but he was actually doing a…relatively good job in the role of 'big brother'.

He shook his head to clear it and turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Okay, this is what we'll do; read out bits and pieces of it, I'll tell you what they mean and you can write them down again. It shouldn't activate by just being read aloud but I'm not taking any chances. That sound good?"

"Good-o. Let's see…Rises sicko celebrate-ee-oh voss ess i-do-ne-us…"

* * *

><p>Rare dialect of Latin = Latin according to cheap online translator websites ;3 God I love the internet \o

Sorry for the long wait -_- Wanna know something weird? Apparently, society expects me to participate in this new and groovy thing called a 'life'. I know, right? Crazy. I'd be much happier if I could just write D';

I'd just like to say: the closest I have ever been to America is flying above his place on a trip to...um...what's the name of Kumajirou's owner? You know, America's brother...anyway, yeah, that guy. My point is, I'm terribly sorry if I have offended any Americans in this chapter :D Or British people, but I have actually been there so I can't use that excuse ^_~ I was trying to keep the two of them in character~ I hope I wasn't too offensive ;D Although honestly, with Hetalia, offence is pretty much a given ;P

Anyways, thanks so much for reading :D It makes me so excited that people are actually reading this weirdo thing I've cooked up x3 I know this chapter wasn't the best, buuuut…it was fun to write, so I hope you enjoyed it :'D

Thanks again o/

~IA


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